


In a Softer Life

by ElectricViola



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: ???? what's their damn tag?, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Pining, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, pieck x porco, pikkupokki???, pikkupokku, pokkupikku, porco x pieck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28637049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectricViola/pseuds/ElectricViola
Summary: Pieck pines for Porco, Porco thinks it's all a game for her, and soon they come to understand the truth of each other better when one of them finally closes the gap between them.Explicit content
Relationships: Pieck/Zeke (Shingeki no Kyojin), Porco Galliard & Pieck, Porco Galliard/Pieck
Comments: 10
Kudos: 85





	In a Softer Life

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so I'm also into Pieck x Galliard (x Zeke being a simp) I GUESS
> 
> No plot. They're just going to fuck, enjoy

There's not much to do but blow bubbles out of my gum. I am prone, arms spread out, lazy as you would be if you'd been piloting a titan for two months.

I am sprawling back on one of those unyielding beds Magath ordered for us, placed in the senior officers' barracks where we're easy to watch.

It doesn't matter. I do not take offense to the excruciating vigilance. We're monsters, aren't we? We're all beasts, aren't we?

I am staring at the ceiling, keeping my mouth busy chewing on gum so I don't start screaming. Bubble inflates, bubble explodes, inflates and explodes.

There's no one in here with me. I do what I want, and what I want now is to close my eyes and think about nothing.

Except that's not quite true. There is someone I want to think about. I keep my eyes closed, I spit my gum into my hands and stick it under the bed, I let my hands trail downwards on my body and hike up my skirts.

I recall earlier when he hassled Reiner. He did back off when I suggested he do so, albeit with a faint admonition at me when I used that little nickname he hates. If there is something he feels for me, even if it's just respect, I'll take it. I'll take anything he offers me. He certainly doesn't see me the way I see him. As soon as Reiner left the room, I plopped back on the bed; I was tired indeed, but that was not my reason for being situated in a lewd position, my knees pointed at a man sitting barely a foot away in an otherwise empty room. Not to mention it was _his_ bed. Still, there was barely a cursory look that he threw me over his shoulder, that too which seemed to be driven by annoyance, not any feeling I would have liked to invite. What kind of man wouldn't have lewd thoughts about a female stretched out in his bed for no reason whatsoever? Even for a second?

It's okay, I don't care. Or that's what I tell myself. I always have the comfort of my thoughts, where the other him resides with the safety of my self-ingratiating fantasies.

In my thoughts, after I lie on the bed, he rises from his seat. He looks down at me, spread-eagle on the bed. He leans forward, he whispers something in my ear--he could start with anything, anything at all, and then he orders me to raise my frock. He pulls me to the edge of the bed, and then just as we are to conjoin at the hip right where we are--

I orgasm with a soft sigh.

After I come down from my tremulous panting, the quivering and shuddering, I pity, as I habitually do, the poor soul who will inherit my memories.

After I'm done wallowing, I find myself in a room full of men, not one of them so much as glancing my way even as I lay sideways on my stomach in the middle of a meeting, wearing a skirt and all. Am I not worth looking at? Or have their titans castrated all of them? My titan certainly hasn't castrated me. My pulse still quickens when I think of my darker desires, something I would much rather be doing than assisting a redundant meeting with Zeke at its head.

He's talking at us. I'm fairly certain no one aside from Colt is listening, but my ear suddenly pricks up and I find an opportunity to act like I am, too. I jump at it without being prompted.

"Exactly right! As expected of Pieck," exclaims Zeke before I'm done pronouncing my last syllable. There is a little pause, during which I say nothing. Is it bad that I am finding it increasingly difficult to pretend to be elated by his especially enthusiastic attention towards me?

Under my lashes I cast a furtive look at Porco. He's focused on Zeke. He doesn't care that I am in the crosshairs of another man.

Pieck the clever one, Pieck the Titan, Pieck the monster.

What if I just want to be a girl, a woman, and treated as one?

No, I'm just the Pieck that he can't be bothered to look at.

Terror on the staircase. I am in my natural state; that is, I am on my hands and knees. He comes up the stairs. Suddenly he flinches. His chest is heaving in shock when he finds me crawling on all fours. He has to hang onto the railing to the staircase to get a grip on his nerves. He tells me to walk properly. I still have bruises under my eyes from the exhaustion. My titan doesn't heal as fast, doesn't he know? My eyes trail after him when he walks by, doesn't he know? I deserve to crawl, even if for a minute. I deserve the rest.

No, he's too fixated on hating Reiner.

"Alright, Galliard."

In a minor outburst of disobedience, I arch my back. It emphasises the curve of my body, and I can feel his entire world stop spinning for a second by the way he stops breathing.

He misses another beat before carrying on and walking away. I spy him steal a glance back. When I smile at him, plainly letting him know he's been caught looking at me, his head whips back around and goes on his way.

I stare in the direction in which he disappeared for the longest time, but he doesn't come back this way.

I crawl back to my room, drag myself up to my bed, and pull out another piece of gum. It's bubble-blowing time.

Strange green hazel eyes, bright as a hawk's in the sun...

I'm not feeling up to dinner. I spend the rest of the day in bed.

***

In the blanket of night I lie in my room, my head resting on my hands. We're going to have a long day tomorrow; it's the festival. I have a very solid fantasy in my mind, and it's making me smirk up to the ceiling. I'm going to drain Reiner dry. I'll make him buy me all the food. He won't have enough money left to go to the consignment store for cigarettes at the end of the month!

And Pieck can tag along and--oh, Pieck. The rosy memory of her shapely arse surges back up through my mind. Come to think of it, where was she during dinner?

I try to flood my nerves with thoughts of other girls. They love the armband. They're more likely to swarm around me than Reiner or Zeke now, because duh, they know I'll live longer and that means more time to ensnare a Warrior into a marriage and somehow every girl I've slept with has successfully managed to make herself detestable with her persistence and _gaah_ clearly thinking of them isn't working because I hate them.

I squeeze my eyes shut and I focus on fantasising about beating up Reiner, or Zeke, well probably not Zeke because he would swing right back, but then thinking of Zeke sends me back to Pieck. Pieck and her wide, sleepy grey eyes... She's so tiny. I must be a head taller than her at least. She's so little that it still amazes me she made it to the Warrior ranks, she's so smart and she's so talented and beautiful and suddenly I slap my side table in frustration.

I feel the first stirrings of desire inside me, and Pieck's body is plastered in my mind.

Swinging my legs over the bed, I can't decide whether my brain is trying to banish this feeling or prolong it.

I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I understand that I'm not supposed to turn to her when she stares at me. I know that I am not to come in between Zeke and Pieck when he draws too close, or grabs her arm and she stiffens visibly. It is likewise in the rules of our unspoken arrangement that I'm not to help her deflect him when he makes a visible display of favouritism just because she's female. I am certainly not to acknowledge her discomfort. I'm not supposed to tell her how good she smells.

Beating Zeke to a pulp for so much as looking at my girl is also high up on the no-no list.

I force myself to breathe through these paroxysms of desire that take control of my stuttering heartbeat, all reactions to the thought of having her as my girl.

Those sweet, round hips--

My hand twitches, almost reaches for my stirring manhood through my trousers. But my idiot roommate might just walk in. And Pieck's room is the only one with an ensuite.

Ugh, her grey eyes peeking up from under those telescopic eyelashes...!

It's too much. I tried my best, I honestly did. There's only so much a man can resist before his principles are disassembled and he can no longer recognise them as his own. In spite of my restraint, and her repulsive games, I can no longer see a reason why I should resist.

I'm at her door in a flash, knocking. But that was after I spritzed some cologne on.

When she opens the door I'm gripping both sides of her doorway, leaning forward. She gasps a little at the sight of me, clutching her little hand at her chest. She's dressed in her nightclothes, some sort of pale frock held together by laces. Clearly all prepared for going to bed, so early in the night.

"Pieck?" I say, uncertain. All I can think about is how easy it would he to tug on those laces and undress her right this moment.

"Galliard."

"Pieck..."

"Yes?"

"I had to see you," I say lamely.

"About what?" she says in her soft little voice, and the neutral confusion in her eyes gives me pause. I search her eyes, for any indication at all that I was mistaken, that this was just a big joke on her part, or plain misunderstanding on mine. We've been looking at each other for longer than appropriate now...

Her gaze widens, and I nearly smirk at the confirmation that I am not crazy. There is no more need for words. Our expressions say it all: my lips part to share unspoken words, and her eyes are suddenly cast down in a silent acceptance. There was very much something at play here, and I have broken the rules.

She briefly steals a peek at me and immediately lets her gaze fall again.

There are no secrets between us--and by us, I mean the Warriors. There is not a shred of privacy for any one of us except in our thoughts, and for better or for worse I know her to be a virgin. By her blush I also know that she understands what I have come here for.

Through the thin curtains, through the darkness and the tender leaves of the trees, moonlight filters in. Her pale face is strangely distinct from the rest of the dark room, as though it emits a faint glow of its own.

She places her small hand on my chest, shuddering as she inhales through her parted lips.

Titchy thing that she is, I have to bend a long way to press my lips to hers. Next to her sacred skin, mine is almost filthy, as though I should have bleached my hands before coming here.

I press her body to mine with a hard hand on her lower back, and I step into the room, kicking the door shut behind me.

It's a flurry of movements then. It's my hot palm on her delicate waist, her hips pressed firm against mine, every warm slide of our lips warming my soul after such a long spell of deep winter.

She licks my lip then, and catches it between her pearly teeth, gently tugging. I abruptly draw back at her aggressiveness, but soon understand what she wants when she stretches up again and licks my mouth again. I am more than happy to oblige. With tilted heads, we attempt to quench our need for each other's touch with our open mouths. Our teeth click, I slide my tongue into her mouth and she moans into the kiss. She tastes like mint. I hope to God I don't taste terrible; I've been binge drinking coffee and stealing Reiner's cigarettes. Either way, she doesn't seem at all. Whatever she's getting here, she is eager for it. I cannot point to an exact moment when she decided she was in charge, but she's the one leading us to bed. She's the one clawing at my shoulders, my forearms, pulling at my hair and scratching my neck, grinding our hips together where she can probably feel my already straining bulge--all no doubt to entice me into doing what she wants me to. It's working. If someone came knocking at the door, I'd kill them and make her continue.

When the back of her legs hit the mattress, she leans back on it, dragging me down with her. My hands shoot out, palms flat against the bed with one booted foot still on the ground and the other knee drawn between her legs.

She writhes under me, pressing to my neck kisses that feel like butterfly's feet, cupping my cheek and hooking her leg over my hip. I give her pause when my hand comes up to clasp hers.

"Shouldn't you want to rest?" I murmur with a stutter. I don't know why I say that. I know what I came here for, and she's very obviously in a mood to make love.

"I'll rest when I'm dead, Pock."

"Call me that again and I will leave."

"Alright... Pock." When I stare at her, she flashes me a mischievous smile, tempered by her bashfulness about being situated as she is, lying under a man for the first time.

"You win," I whisper with a kiss. " _Just this once_."

She gasps, clutching at me when I slide my arm under her and lift her to shift her body higher up on the bed.

Her legs, her lovely legs, are pressed wide open under my weight. Sliding my hand up her thigh and into the waistband of her knickers, my fingers locating what I seek, a dreamy and strange expression, half pleasure and half fright, comes over her childish features. I slide my fingers over her silky folds before pressing inside into unimaginable heat.

It's wet and _tight_ inside her, and I am already envisioning how I'm going to absolutely ravage her as soon as she's ready. It's almost impossible to resist pushing my fingers all the way in, but I can already feel that fragile resistance that will tear if I persist.

"You know, Pieck," I huff, "I've always loved your arse."

She twists her fingers in my hair, letting the neat back-slick fall loose around my eyes.

With every push of my fingers she moans. I tell her to be quiet, someone might hear us, but she doesn't seem to register what I'm saying so I muffle her moans with my lips locked on hers. Her every puff of breath washes over my face, warm and frantic, and soon her pleasured whining rises in volume. My fingers work faster inside her, and faster yet, when I feel her tightening and quivering I know she's close enough so I pull my fingers away.

I sit back on my knees, undoing my belt with tremors in my fingers, watching her sit up with red-faced elation.

"Take your frock off," I rasp as I point my chin at her collar.

"Take your shirt off," she says, her voice small.

"Yes, madam."

She observes as I shuck my jacket, tug my shirt over my head. I fix my mussed hair, and press close to her, slowly working my mouth against hers as she unlaces her gown. She lets it ride off a single shoulder, which I immediately caress. It's warm and smooth there, angelic and perfect like a peach. There's nothing but a dark bra underneath, and dark knickers. She's much smaller without her clothes on, her waist even tinier than I had ever dared to picture.

She runs her palms down my chest, scratching gently against the hairs between my pecs. I hiss at the sudden tightness in my ribs as I feel her breast with my palm, high and perfect. She turns away with a skittish whimper and I take the chance to bury my face in her now exposed neck, delicate and smooth. I brush her hair back with my free hand, at once stilling her by holding the back of her neck without letting go of her breast.

Her skin is so soft and pale it might as well be milk. When I kiss her neck, she shudders, as though from a chill. She sighs when I drop open mouthed kisses along the column of her throat, her jaw, the silky skin of her cheek. She giggles shyly when I bite her earlobe, and kisses me back eagerly when I come to her lips.

Braced with one arm against the bed so I won't crush her, I lay her down. I slide her knickers down her legs, watching for signs of discontent or panic but there are none. She lifts her hips for me, she nervously brushes her fingertips over her mouth and remains on her back, her dark hair splayed around her head and her pretty gown under her, still hanging on to her by the arms.

I remove my trousers and boxers only as far as needed. My length is stiff as it's ever been, and my size is not going to do me any favours in making it good for her first time. I position the tip of my erection at her entrance. I open my mouth to ask if she's ready but she's already angling her hips up, impaling herself on it as far as she can--which isn't far because I immediately push her back with a stern admonition. "None of that."

The head is barely inside her and already the wetness and the sheer heat of it is making me lightheaded. Breathless, I push forward, little by little. Her face is rigid from the discomfort, her fingers are tight on the muscle of my arms.

At last I feel that barrier again inside her. I don't know how to make this easy for her; I kiss her ear, ask her to trust me, and when she nods I drive my erection all the way in to the hilt. We both gasp sharply, but for very different reasons, and hers is accompanied by a sob. I almost come right then, but after a sharp hiss I hold my breath to get a grip on the searing pleasure.

She acts like a frightened little creature, clinging to me and quivering. All I can do is kiss her neck, her cheek, whisper things to her. "You're so _tight_. You're so beautiful. You're perfect, you're a... You..." _You deserve so much, Pieck, my little Pieck._ "You little thing..."

"Why have you stopped?" she asks sweetly.

"Give it a minute."

"Don't wait," she whispers. "Go on."

"Give it a minute, Pieck," I grind out. I am gritting my teeth, it takes all my goddamn will not to ram into her until I come all over her pretty little face.

I can feel sweat gathering on my chest from the exertion of holding back, simultaneously of staying hard faced with lack of friction, but when I kiss her I remember who's under me and I can face anything.

I pull my hip back as soon as I feel some of the tension leave her body. With a strained huff I push back in, slow as I can, and she reacts with a small cry. I would rather die than have her regret this for the rest of our short lives, so I do my best to keep my shoves measured and slow.

Throughout the rhythmic thrusting, the squeals of pain which she tries to choke back in her throat without quite managing slowly pick up a deeper note, headier and quieter, without a doubt reactions to the new pleasure she is now discovering in the friction of our bodies.

I am in love with the sincerity in her moans; no exaggeration, no holding back. Her face in the moonlight is bright and flushed, her eyes are closed and her lips are parted. Her body jolts with every one of my powerful thrusts, and with my gaze roaming all over her body, from her breasts, unfortunately hidden, to her lovely neck to those deliciously parted lips I hammer her insides until she cries out, "Yes, yes...!"

She's tightening, and tightening, until suddenly she's scratching up my back with all the ferocity of a kitten. It's distracting, it's going to make me come. I seize her wrists and pin them down over her head, smirking over this position of submission after the years of torture I have been enduring at her hands.

"Galliard," she gasps heavily, letting her head roll back, her body arching up sweetly against mine and her fingers twisting in the pillow as she orgasms with an intoxicating cry that makes my heart stop for a second, the muscles inside her pulsing and squeezing my cock so tight that I can't hold it back anymore.

"Can I come in you?" I manage to grunt.

She nods vigorously, head still sinking back into the pillow. "It's safe," she says in a small voice. I know it's safe; I asked only because I couldn't be sure if she would want that. I have her cycle retained in my heart, as sure as my own name for some reason; after all, there are no secrets in the Warrior unit.

Burying my face in her warm chest, my body curled over hers and without letting her wrists go, I drive into her roughly, once, twice, and then again, until a harsh grunt rips from my throat and I spit a curse against her skin, cock throbbing as it releases the last drops of my come inside her sweet body.

Helpless, convulsing in the excruciating bliss of the pleasure I found in her body, I kiss her. She doesn't react. She has gone completely quiet, biting her lip and holding her breath, not a single sound from her. I can't help but rock against her to prolong this incomparable rapture I found inside her.

"Fuck," I say at last, rolling off of her, wincing at the overstimulation of my now sensitive penis, and lie on my flank next to her.

My head rolls back as I breathe harshly, closing my eyes to bask in the glow of my climax.

When I finally open them, there's blood on her thighs, on my penis, quite a bit of it in fact.

"Tsk." Unfortunate to have her first time look like a murder scene, even if she did seem to have enjoyed herself _quite_ a bit... She doesn't respond to the click of my tongue. Nor does she quite respond to me when I caress her shoulder. "You alright?" She's lying there with her eyes closed, face turned to the other side. Is she even breathing? "Pieck? Hey?" I hasten to lean over her and shake her by the shoulder.. Her head rolls my way, eyes still closed, and I'm ready to start yelling for help before her eyes flutter open and she crosses her arms over her chest.

"Yes, Galliard."

"Holy fuck, I thought I killed you."

"Yes, after all the reproductive organs are a Titan's weak spot."

I snort. "Don't bring up that moron now. Also he used to say it's the _arse_."

She giggles then, and I also have to laugh a little. Mostly at her cute face, the bright blush and shiny eyes.

We've been staring at each other too long. Something squeezes my heart.

"Who knew your little game would culminate to this so quickly," I say, for the sake of saying something.

"What game?" she asks with an expression that gives me pause. Pieck is many things, but she's not an actress. At least, not for me. I can always tell when she's up to something. And right now I can tell, her tilted head lays out nothing short of confusion.

"You mean you... I mean, I thought..."

"What?"

"I thought you..." It's my turn to blush now. I scratch my head.

"Did you think I was playing with you?" she says with a coy smile tugging at her lips.

"No, I mean I knew you liked me..." I flush even more furiously, scrubbing back my hair until she stretches her neck to kiss me softly. My voice drops lower, spurred on to come clean. "I just thought this was one of your funny experiments. Like, who cracks first or whatever."

"You're funny," she hums. "It's strange to hear all that. You had me convinced I was transparent." She turns her face away, licking her lips in anxiety as soon as the words are out of her mouth, which I kiss until we're breathless.

"My dear, you could never be transparent." Pieck cups my cheek then, and I lean into her warm touch, bringing up my hand to cover hers with mine.

Once more I'm not sure what to make of my heart leaping in my chest. As if on queue, she turns away and covers her mouth and yawns like a small puppy.

"You must be needing rest now, sweetie." She visibly delighted by what I say; she sits up and rubs her head up against my shoulder like a cat.

"Can't you stay?"

Yeah, fuck Reiner, I'd rather stay and let him talk than deal with his stupid stubble and night terrors. "Let's clean ourselves up and I'll stay until you're asleep."

We're lucky for Pieck's adjoining bathroom; she tells me she'll go after I leave for the communal.

I move to unlock the door. The already unlocked door. "Oops."

We both miss a beat.

"You mean the door wasn't locked the entire time?" she says incredulously.

I raise a hand in defence. "Before you can blame me, we were _both_ in here."

"Okay, Pock."

"Jesus fuck, you won't quit even after I fucked your brains out."

She slumps a little at my words. "Because you left the door open."

"Ugh..." before leaving, I recover her white frock from the floor and lay it over the bed.

Out in the hallway, I tiptoe my way to the communal showers. In there I quickly wash off the blood, the semen, her wetness. I almost grow hard again but immediately banish the thought of going at her once more.

I let myself into her room, taking a seat at her desk until she returns and motions at me to join her in bed as she slides under the covers,

I want to talk to her. I want to hear her voice. But she's been in her Titan for two months, and we've barely gotten a break. I'm going to spoil her to death at the festival tomorrow. I'll buy her a big plushie, I know she likes cute things. I'll even get her a new knife and a holster from the shop--her holster is all worn down, she spends all her money on food and theatre tickets.

She's breathing deeply, evenly.

"I'll go, now," I whisper, trying to move as gently as I can not to rock the bed and cringing when it creaks under my shifting weight.

"You're my best friend, Galliard," she murmurs, half in her sleep I think because when I rise over her to check if I woke her up, her eyes are closed and her mouth rests open against the pillow.

I run a finger from the middle of her forehead down to her chin, lingering a little at her soft lips. "And you're mine."

**Author's Note:**

> In fact, I'm thinking I might just make this a multi-chaptered thing, who knows?
> 
> Lemme know what you think, feedback is always appreciated :D


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